Slipping Out From Pressure
by RosesAreForWriters
Summary: Logan makes the life-altering decision to run away from the pressure that he's had to deal with all his life. Before he gets far however, he starts to really think about it. Will he stay gone, or will he go back home? Warning, OC used


**A/N: I've been waiting for nearly a week for a good idea to get into my head. It was obviously building up, because this is the longest one shot I have ever done. I hope you enjoy it.  
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"Slipping Out From Pressure"

Is it hot in here? No, it was actually sort of chili, at least that's what the others said. They gave me strange looks, when I said that I was practically sweating. Mama Knight even felt my forehead, but I was already screwed. Either way, they'd be worried about me. What if his flu is life threatening? Or, what's worrying him so much that's making him hot? The worst part was, I couldn't tell them.

"Logan, if there's something wrong, you can tell us," Kendall reminded me with his look of concern. He had that look all the time, whenever I wasn't smiling. It was just a harder, not quite as emotional look of worry that I got from Carlos. James just looked in on the situation, curious. It was always the same routine, and I was already backing up, ready to run to my room. I could feel beads of sweat on my forehead.

"I'm not sure if I did a good enough job on my science project," I lied. I did my best to make it look believable, but Carlos and James are the only ones that bought it. All three of the Knights knew that was about as true as a pig saying he could fly. They clearly stated their disbelief on their faces too. I still stuck with it, because I just wanted to get them off my back.

"I'm going to go make sure I did everything right. I lost the instructions about thirty minutes before I finished it, so I might not be right on a couple of things…I'm just gonna see if I can still find the instructions," I excused myself, and I did my best not to walk too quickly to my room. I started to walk fast naturally, because of my fast heartbeat that was pumping adrenaline. Was I really doing this?

Once I was in there, I glanced at the science project, knowing I did a great job on it, because I just absolutely _had_ to. If I got less than a wonderful grade, everyone would be _shocked_, in _horror_, and _disgusted_. I mean, how could the genius known as Logan Mitchell not do perfectly? My mother and my father wouldn't believe it.

"Son, there's one thing us Mitchells always do: get perfect grades. If we don't, well who are we?" my father would tell me every freaking day. Every time I would gulp and say, "Not a Mitchell, dad. We'd be a disgrace." I suppose making myself say that made the pressure harder. Now you didn't get pressure from just your parents, but from yourself as well. Funny, I don't always do well under pressure.

"Logan, sweetie, I can't believe it…how could you get a _B_? Didn't you try your hardest?" my mother once asked, whispering because if she spoke any louder, it would be harder to keep the tears back. Did you know, that when somebody says something like that to you, in a whisper, it makes you want to scream and tear your hair out? It was all I could to sit there, and look down, because I was ashamed. I had made my mother cry, how much of an awful son was I?

"I promise I'll do better. I feel terrible about it," I answer her honestly. She looked up at me then with a mean look, and no one else could see it. I was shocked to see it, because hadn't she been crying a second ago?

"Well, you'd better," she hissed. I nodded quickly and went to my room. That was the first time I'd ever seen my mother do something like that, and it was in the fifth grade that it happened.

I've learned that there are different emotions that go into pressure. There's _fear_ of a bad grade, there's anger that it's not already over with, even though you really couldn't have done it earlier, whatever _it_ is, and there's just a little bit of desperation, trying to get out of the situation as fast as you could. Of course, it's always good to feel a little bit of that combination, but when it never goes away, and it gets harder to breathe, maybe you're pushing yourself too hard. In my life, there's no such thing.

I sank down to my knees once I reached my bed, and I reached under it, until I felt a box that nobody really knew I had. It had a few hundred dollars in it, because I always saved up, my parents said I had to pay as much as I could for college. They wanted me to learn the value of a dollar. Well now I knew that every dollar I had was going to help me finally do what I'd always wanted to do: runaway.

It had always been just a little bit of a pipe dream of mine, to runaway. Most of the time I tried to stay as realistic as possible, but sometimes I let myself believe that once I took the first step of freedom I could go anywhere I wanted. Sometimes, in my head, I went to Venice, other times to Cologne, Germany. Once I even went to Paris, France, just to see what all the girls were so interested in. That place has some pretty lights, I can tell you that.

I folded the money as tightly as I could, stuffing some of it in my pockets, but most of it went into the bottom of my shoes. The others would know that something was in my pockets if I put it all in there.

I stood up when I was done, and shook myself out. I came up with a lie, and a nervous smile that I would use with it, and walked out of the room, into the large center of the apartment where everybody was. I'd walk like I normally would, and I wouldn't look like I was trying to sneak out.

"Where are you going Logie?" James asked with a slight edge to his voice. His eyes were trained on the TV like the others, and I knew what they were trying to pull off. The only problem was how robotic and almost unnatural it looked. I smiled for real that time because it was amusing.

"I'm going to see if I can find Miss Collins and see if she has an extra guidelines sheet," I replied. He nodded once, stiffly, and looked to the others. Kendall and Katie nodded just a tiny bit, trying to be inconspicuous. I held back my laugh, because it would be easier to do so, with the relief that the tough ones bought my lie.

"Cool," James said as I was walking out the door. I felt completely relieved until the door was shut, and I was standing in the middle of a long, dimly lit hallway. I had to take a deep breath in order to keep the nagging thoughts back. I'd made my decision, and it would be pointless to just stand there for ten minutes and not get anything done. I had to go through with it now. So when I finished exhaling, I held my chin up, and squared back my shoulders. Then I took my first step of freedom.

I did my very best, (of course) to walk with little to no worrisome features. I made it passed the lobby, and passed the Palm Woods completely without turning too many heads at all. I decided to walk to the nearest park, that wasn't the Palm Woods park. The first one I saw was about ten miles away, and my feet had already started hurting more than halfway back. They were telling me it was a bad idea, and it was the same hurt you got when you stood really close to the banister when you're standing on the second story floor, watching the first floor. It was making sure you didn't jump. I never got the idea to, my feet just seemed too worried that I would.

Since my feet just wouldn't give it a rest, (that sounds funny, don't you think?) I sat down on the park bench furthest away from the happy playing children. They didn't seem to have any worries at all, and I envied them.

They didn't have the stress to make great grades. They were too young to become worldwide performers like I was. They didn't have to deal with having to sing wonderfully, remember dance routines, change clothes in ninety seconds, then come back out and do the same thing again, only different. They didn't have friends to help with their homework that should've been easy for them. They didn't have to worry about what _others_ thought of them if they did _anything_. Why couldn't I be one of _them_?

Before I could even realize that I was there because I was running away, it was dark out, but not dark enough to the point you couldn't make out faces. The children were still long gone, and I was left to stare at the cemented ground. I drew shapes with my foot, and resisted to name the lengths of the sides and do equations with them. I ran away because I was done with that.

Anyone could have recognized me, and ruined my train of thought, which was nothing. Thinking about nothing was hard when you were me, and when you could finally let go, you hated anybody who interrupted you. Nobody recognized me, and it wasn't until I snapped out of my daze was I grateful for that.

I started to realize what I had done, and I began listing a lot of the pros that came from my decision. Being the pessimist I am though, the cons of my decision were louder, but fortunately fewer. I had to start over every time one came up. I was lucky no one came to see my changing expressions.

The first person that I saw, or saw me really, they came from behind, was a girl maybe slightly older than my age with pretty red hair, and a gentle smile. She saw me with a sad frown on my face, and sat down next to me to make me smile. She probably knew who I was, because otherwise her mother never told her that talking to sad strangers could be dangerous. I stared at the ground even after she sat down next to me.

"What's wrong? You look like you've been crying," she said softly. I looked up at her with wide eyes. I brought my hand to my cheek, and was shocked that I had been. I had no idea I was crying.

"I ran away," I blurted out. To my surprise, she nodded understandingly. I continued to stare at her.

"I've done that…several times. Could you tell me why _you're_ doing it now?" she questioned. I nodded, and when she gave me an expression of expectance, I realized I had just been staring at her. She didn't _look_ like someone who's runaway.

With a little bit of stuttering, a few pauses, and slight urge from her to continue, I started to tell her my story. She didn't seemed surprised when I told her I was famous, so she already knew my name. It felt good to get all of it out, because I had never really told anyone all of it. I never told anyone the whole story, and I felt much better once I got it all out. She patted me on the knee when I was done. It tickled a little bit.

"Logan, you've obviously got friends back home that love you. Do you really think this is going to work?" she finally asked. I leaned back, astounded.

"You said you ran away!" I pointed out. "How could you ask me such a question?" I gasped. She sighed, and her shoulders slumped.

"I ran away from people who _didn't_ love me, to people who _did_. You're running from a place where there are several people who love you, to some place in the world for as long as you can. There are only two outcomes to this. Your friends will find you, and you can be alive, or you can destroy them by winding up in a ditch somewhere."

"How do you even know that I'll end up in a ditch? You haven't," I tested her. She rolled her eyes, wanting me to get her point.

"I don't. I just know you have a good thing going and you're going to ruin it by running away. Look. I ran away from something negative to something positive. You're running from a positive thing by going to a possibly negative thing. Since we have opposite causes, our effects will be opposite too. Understand so far?" I nodded, and she continued.

"If it's going to have opposite effects, analyze this carefully. I'm happy and healthy, how do you think you're going to be?" Whoa.

"What about my parents?" I asked, my anxiety coming out into my voice, making it more high pitched. She slumped again, and from her staring at the ground I knew she was considering her next words carefully.

"Come with me to my apartment," she began, "and you can sleep in my guest room. My roommates are out of town. I'll think about what you can do about your parents while you get some sleep. Plus, being away for an entire night will give you more of an idea about being on the run. You'll tell me your decision to go back or stay when you get up," she suggested. I hesitated, but the idea of a bed sounded good now. It was colder outside than it normally has been, and I was tired and hungry.

I gave in, and the girl led me back to her apartment building, which wasn't too far away. That was a gift, because my feet still hurt in resistance to running away. She led me inside, and we were greeted by several dogs. None of them growled at me, and she told me that she trained her dogs to be sweet to people she came in with. That must've been good for future boyfriends of hers.

She gave me the option of food, and told me where to sleep. She grabbed her laptop, and quickly began typing away on it in the living room. It was very late by then, so I went to bed quickly after I ate. I may have been exhausted physically, but my mind was still reeling with thoughts. I tossed and turned for hours, looking at the clock at short unregulated intervals. When it was close to five thirty, I sat up, and gave up on sleeping.

I walked to the kitchen for water, and found the girl staring at her screen in concentration, the light coming from her laptop lighting her face. She was sitting on one of the chairs at the opposite side of the counter. I stared at her until she acknowledged the fact I was in the room.

"You've made your decision?" she asked, not even looking up. I sighed, and found that I already had made my mind before I consciously knew it.

"I want to go home," I confessed. She nodded, and closed her laptop, and then it was much darker. I could just make out her silhouette getting her keys.

"Let's go. You want to take the truck or the motorcycle?" she asked, and I raised my eyebrows. If she had transportation, why didn't we use it earlier?

"Motorcycle. I want to feel free for the last minutes I have of it," I answered her. She nodded, and we left her apartment. When we got to the garage, I found it surprisingly easy to hop on the big pile of metal. It felt good.

"I've decided that since you're nearly eighteen, you should just get a restraining order from your parents when you turn that age. It sounds strange, but they could do some serious damage on you. You already have the pressure and motivation by yourself, you shouldn't have to do it for them. Just push them out of your life," she instructed, revving the bike and tearing out of the building. I nodded, a silly grin on my face, not even grasping that what she's saying would be a huge decision. I just went with it.

"Cool," I responded. She and I laughed, and we sped up. It was a fun ride, and we told a few one-liners. I was somewhat hysterical from no sleep, but that made it more enjoyable.

She stopped in front of the building, and we got off. I was still grinning like a mad man, and she just had a nice smile.

"You know, I never learned your name," I reminded her. She shrugged.

"You don't need to. Just go back to your family, cowboy," she laughed as she hugged me. She left me standing there, still hysterically happy.

"Logan!" the guys cried out, wrapping all of their arms around me as soon as I walked in the door. The entire time, still grinning. I may have temporarily lost it.

"Where have you been?" Kendall scolded. I shrugged, because to be honest, I couldn't tell them I was in a stranger's apartment. That would give them heart attacks. They just looked at me, astonished that I could be so mellow.

"Hey, can we just talk about this tomorrow? I haven't slept all night. I am _exhausted_," I excused myself, already strutting towards my room, leaving them to stare at my back. By doing what I had done over a surprising number of twelve hours, I had slipped out from the bottom of the pressure that laid on my shoulders. I could finally sleep happily, knowing that when I woke up, I only had to rise up to _my_ expectations, and nobody else's.

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**A/N: So there it is. Did you enjoy it? It took me a while to write, and some things ended up different than how I planned it. Tell me what you think. If you want something lighter, tell me. I'll even take requests.  
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**~RosesAreForWriters  
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